


Shadowless Like Silence

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, Episode: s02e11 Redefinition, Episode: s02e15 Reprise, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2 between "Redefinition" and "Reprise"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowless Like Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Jaybitvees for the Angel Book of Days - Autumn

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn  
Stand shadowless like silence, listening  
to silence for no lonely bird would since  
into his hollow ear from woods forlorn  
Ode. Autumn - Hood 

Did he know she watched him showering? Darla doubted it. She could see his trim outline against the foggy plastic of the shower door. Lindsey was so predictable. The first thing he did every night after work was to jump in the shower as if it could remove the coating of decay Wolfram and Hart imbued him with. Darla wondered how he could stand water that hot. 

She drifted into his bedroom and sat on his soft bed with its stylish bed cover. She let her fingers play over the plastic hand that lay there waiting for its owner to get done showering. How had he lost it? Is that what made him shy? 

Darla knew Lindsey wanted her desperately but something held him back night after night. Of course, she could kill him at any moment and that could have something to do with cooling his ardor, or maybe the mere fact she was a vampire played into it. Not everyone wanted to sleep with the dead. The syphilis her mortal self had kept him away when she still had a pulse. Even more interesting was what compelled him to offer her shelter. 

Love, Darla decided. It over rode fear. She had no doubt Lindsey loved her and she had to feel a little something for him or she would have killed him by now. Vampires had long used living servants, more so back in the bad old days when hair styles and clothing needed more than one person to get it done right but Lindsey was more than a servant. There was a sweetness to him under the hard exterior, hiding behind impish blue eyes. In that respect, he reminded of a mortal Angelus. 

Oh, Lindsey was a better man than Liam had ever been and far smarter. Darla had no illusions about that. She hadn't picked Liam for his brains. She had selected him for his face, the promise of those broad, if uneven shoulders, and what she had heard around town about what hid under his trousers. She hadn't been disappointed. Angelus had made up for his average intellect with a flair for evil. 

Darla knew Lindsey could make a good vampire, hell, he might even be one of the great ones but she liked him the way he was. Maybe coming back from the dead had made her a little soft or at least a little more romantic. She knew Lindsey might even give himself to her because he loved her hopelessly, shamelessly.

The way she loved Angel. Darla hated to admit it. She loathed being dependent on anyone and she despised the soul inside of that handsome package. Still, wasn't that what Wolfram and Hart was paying her for, to strip away that soul? They even told her the secret to desouling him lay between her legs. Oh, they had couched it in prettier terms but that's what it boiled down to. Angel had had sex with a Slayer - mind-boggling in and of itself - and lost his soul. It was the same Slayer he had killed her for, so she was sorely tempted to dust him herself. Wolfram and Hart wanted her to perform the same trick the Buffy had. 

Darla hated being used. Luckily for Wolfram and Hart, they had common goals. She needed Angelus and she needed that dirty soul gone. Her body ached for him so being Wolfram and Hart's whore and spreading her legs to get what she wanted worked for her. She'd never been ashamed to have been a prostitute. In her mortal days, there hadn't been many jobs for women and none that allowed them to be their own women and rich. She had been both. She answered to no one and that was what grated here, having to answer to Wolfram and Hart. Still, she'd do it to get her Angelus back and woe to the law firm if they thought they could control the scourges of Europe once they were a team again. 

Did Lindsey know exactly what Wolfram and Hart wanted her to do? She doubted it. His hatred of Angel couldn't be plainer. He wouldn't let her move in, taking over his closets like a live-in lover, if he had a clue she was trying to seduce his enemy. Poor Lindsey was going to be a casualty of this plan and she actually felt bad about it. It felt like her soul had left a nasty residue of good inside her, at least where Lindsey was concerned. She didn't mind too much. Lindsey was useful, luscious to look at and she knew she wouldn't allow him to interfere with her plans. 

The biggest surprise so far was how recalcitrant Angel had been in not leaving behind his disgusting white hat routine. He resisted her charms deftly. It infuriated her. Darla was unaccustomed to not being able to make men do what she wanted. That she needed Angel at all was like dancing barefoot on thorns and to have him rebut her salt on the wounds. It would be easier if she could just take him, do him and toss him. 

She didn't know if just knocking him down, tying him up and having her way would be enough to remove his soul. She wanted him to be willing. Something told her that was a needed part of the spell. And more over, Darla wanted Angel. He was her most perfect creation. She could mother a hundred children and she might not recreate a creature as wonderfully wicked as Angelus. She adored his unmeasurable lust for blood and bone. She wanted that back but how to get it? 

Darla looked up hearing the soft padding of feet. Lindsey froze in his door way, hiding his shorn arm behind him. His wet hair seemed darker and wavier than she expected. A soft, purple towel was his only shield and she could see his discomfort at that. 

"Darla," he said softly as if unsure what to say to a woman who sat on his bed uninvited, no matter how much she knew he wanted her there. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you." She got up and swayed her way to him, backing him against the wall. She reached for his injured arm and he tried to hold her off. Darla was stronger. "It's all right, Lindsey," she whispered and he looked away. She ran her fingers over his arm, trailing over the slightly swollen, reddened area at the tip. She saw the U-shaped scar at the truncated end of the limb. 

"Don't. I can't feel that." He was staring at her now, his eyes like sapphires. His biceps tensed under her hand. 

She saw the pain in those blue depths. "Nothing?" 

"Numb, pins and needles." 

Her fingers went up a little farther and his arm twitched under her tickling digits. "You felt that." 

"Some. I don't....I don't like people looking at it," he said. 

"It's a part of you." 

"Not any more," he said bitterly. 

Darla's hand swept up his arm, over his shoulder, to cup his chin. "How did it happen?" 

"Angel." The amount of poison he packed into that one word could have killed everyone on his city block. 

Darla managed a sympathetic look while inside her dead heart did a metaphorical dance. Her boy still had some wickedness in him after all. Then again, she already knew that. After all, hadn't he given her and Dru that house full of yummy people as an early Christmas gift? It had taken a lot to convince Dru not to kill Lindsey or Lilah, though she wasn't sure why she spared the woman. Maybe it was because she admired tough women in a man's job. "Why?" 

Lindsey tried to move away but Darla moved in front of him, pressing her soft bosom against his damp, warm chest. She felt his breath catch. "He was trying to stop us from bringing you back," he said slowly as if measuring her reaction, half expecting her to thank him in a very violent way. 

She just smiled and fluttered a kiss over his cheek. "All births have to have blood and pain. I'm sorry it was yours. It was a high price to pay." 

He brushed back her hair with his remaining hand. "I was willing." 

Darla doubted that. She was sure if he could go back in time he wouldn't allow himself to be in that position but she allowed him his lie. She pressed her lips to his, taking his ruined arm so she could put herself in the crook of his elbow. She felt the blunt end of his arm pressing into her back as his remaining hand caressed her shoulder. She kissed him deep, her teeth scraping over his. Her powers to seduce a man were obviously intact, judging by the hardness pressing into her thigh. So why was she having such trouble with Angel? Darla moved her lips, kissing the pulse point on his neck. She hadn't expected his reaction. 

Lindsey squirmed away, trying hard not to look terrified to have a vampire's mouth pressed to his throat. "Darla, this isn't...I mean...." 

"What's wrong, Lindsey?" She kept her face neutral. 

He looked away, tightening the tuck on hi towel which was failing miserably to hide his interest in her. "I feel like I'm taking advantage." 

She almost laughed. "Of me?" 

"I had...this isn't very romantic." He turned away from her, ignoring her as he went to retrieve his artificial limb. 

"I'm rushing you. I didn't mean to," she said, but the light went on in her head. That's what was missing between her and Angel, romance. 

Lindsey shook his head. "It's all right. I just didn't want you to think you had to do this because I was letting you stay here." 

"I didn't. Later you can tell me about that more romantic plan you had," she said and left his room. She knew exactly what she had to do. Once, before the ensouling, Angelus had managed to make her furious and she had left him. He had made an elaborate effort to woe her back along the lines of the twelve days of Christmas, only with more still-warm hearts than with calling birds. That's what she's do, recreate as perfectly as she could, everything he had done to win back her heart. 

*** 

The hotel was eerily quiet. Angel, once used to silence, found it to be a reinforcement for the growing darkness inside him. A small voice in his head said go find Gunn, Cordy and Wes, go talk to Kate, make a road trip to Sunnydale, do anything but sit and sink deeper into darkness. Foolish pride had made him send his friends away, pride and frustration. All his good deeds had gotten him no where. He hadn't felt like he had made any amends and when he needed help, when Darla had been a ghost haunting his memories - all right, not really a ghost as he finally proved - his friends didn't try to help him. They treated him like he was insane. It hurt. 

"Too hell with them," he grumbled as a knock sounded on the door. Surprised, Angel went to answer it. No one was there, an unfamiliar person's scent lingering in the air. On the stoop sat a box wrapped in white shiny paper dotted with pink hearts, topped with a fluffy pink bow. He picked it up and under it was a white envelope. The card on the box and the envelope both had 'Angelus' written on them but neither carried Darla's scent. 

He took them back into his office, flopping heavily in his chair. He rocked back and opened the envelope first. Inside it was another envelope on which, in Darla's hand which he remembered well, in red ink was written 'Remember Death." Like he could forget County Death. She had taught him to hunt there because it was safer than in Galway where he was known. They had gotten up to plenty of wickedness over the years there. 

Angel tore open the second envelope and took out a stack of photos. They were all boudoir shots of Darla. One of her in a pink and black corset, panties and fish nets; one of her in a barely there blue and white bikini. He lingered over one of her on her knees in a golden mesh top, stiletto gold heels and no undies, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. As he moved on to the ones of her naked, her pale flesh nestled on rich brown fake fur, he felt his pants getting a little tight. The one of Darla nude in a man-made water fall and lush pond, rivulets of water running over the prominence of her shell pink nipples, stood up him upright. 

Angel set the pictures aside, pinching the bridge of his nose. This is no good. He didn't particularly want Darla. Oh, sex with her had been great all those years but there had always been something missing, souls more likely than not. Of course, she was here in L.A. and she was obviously ready and willing. It had been a long time and what did it really matter any more? His friends deserted him without even really trying to protest his sending them away. Who cared if he became Angelus again? 

"I do," he whispered, trying to get his body back under his control. It didn't help that he could still see those pictures of Darla. He stuck the envelope over them and tried to think of something other than Darla and the raging erection he had. The first thing that popped into mind was Buffy, perhaps the one other person who might mind him becoming Angelus but thoughts of her only made things worse. 

Angel squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think unsexy thoughts. First to mind after Buffy came Cordelia but she was far from unsexy. Spike taunting him that night he came back to Sunnydale drunk, that was pretty unsexy. The look in Giles' eyes the first time he met up with the Watcher after he returned from hell, yes, that was helping. Xander just standing there being Xander, that's all that was needed, the lust effectively killed. 

Angel stared at the box. Dare he open it? Hell knew what Darla might have sent him. He decided if he didn't open it, it could come back to bite him on the ass so Angel tore off the wrapper. Inside was a plastic container. As he opened it, he got a whiff of blood. Inside was a heart, the major arteries and veins sewn shut. It was still warm. He knew it was human. 

Angel lifted it out, feeling the tackiness of the blood. It spawned another lust, his face morphing. Pig's blood kept him alive but it couldn't compare to what was inside this muscle. He knew Darla had left some blood inside, just a taste sutured up especially for him. He wanted to toss it aside, get the temptation as far from him as possible but on the other hand, the person was already dead. 

Before he even knew he was doing it, Angel tore through a suture with his fangs and the cooling blood danced over his tongue, igniting his senses. By the time his mind ventured out of sheer oral joy, Angel found himself pressing his tongue as deep into the organ to lap out the last drops. His eyes suddenly burned with tears. That familiar self-loathing and humiliation flooded him. 

Angel got up and took the drained organ to one of the old fireplaces that once added charm and warmth to the hotel and he put it on the grate. He built the fire right over it. He knew he should condemn the photos to the flames and go out and hunt down Darla to put a stop to this but he didn't. Instead he stared as the flames, frightened by the part of him that wanted to give in to her. 

*** 

Darla nestled down in the soft cotton sheets on Lindsey's bed. They had devised a sharing system. She slept in his bed by day and he by night. There was a strong temptation to cross those lines and really share but both of them had resisted so far. The bedding smelled good; his soft, spicy scent mixed with the faint hint of his expensive cologne. Lindsey knew how to wear it well, lightly to tantalize rather than marinate in it like far too many men. 

Darla knew Lindsey'd be home soon so she should get up. She had been awake for hours but she was moving on to the next part of Angel's wooing. Her slim fingers were under the silk of her panties, expertly touching herself. Any man would be able to smell her arousal. It should send a vampire over the moon. Darla considered herself an expert in the arts of love. She could pleasure herself as easily as others. Of course, she had a lot to work with, the memories of Angelus taking her any which way either of them wanted, the delicious smell of Lindsey rising off the sheets. 

Darla stopped before she gushed all over the bedding and wiggled out of the wet red silk, putting her panties inside her leather purse. She was just getting out of the shower when she heard Lindsey coming in. He looked rough, his hair tousled, his hand-painted tie crooked. 

"Honey, I'm home." He managed a grin. 

"Tough day at work, dear?" Darla shot back. 

"You have no idea." 

Darla went over to him, her nose wrinkling. "Smells like you were wrestling in a landfill." 

He snorted. "Close enough. Ever hear of the Florida Skunk Ape?" 

"No and I'm sure I don't want to. Do I want to know what Wolfram and Hart wants with a Skunk Ape?" 

He shook his head. "I need a shower." 

"For once, you actually do." She gently propelled him that way. "Sorry, I didn't get around to making the bed." 

"I don't care. All I want is a shower and to collapse," he said wearily and Darla added mentally, 'and sniff the pillows.' 

"That works out good because I needed to go out and get some things. I didn't want to be rude and run out as soon as you came through the door," Darla said. "But since you're exhausted, it's just as well." 

"I can take you shopping, Darla. Just let me shower." He tried to look enthusiastic but failed. 

"This is something I need to do alone," Darla said, giving him a meaningful look. 

"But..." His head drooped. "Oh." 

She knew he understood she wasn't so much as shopping as planning to go out and kill the shopkeeps and take what she wanted. It hurt him. She could see the guilt in his eyes for not stopping her, for allowing her to continue wrecking havoc, for loving her in spite of it. She was breaking his soul into little pieces. She should just let him go but for some reason she couldn't. She might want Angel more than anything but she couldn't quite bring herself to cut Lindsey out of her life. 

"I shouldn't be too long." 

"You'll need to take a cab or walk. I cabbed it home. I wasn't getting into my truck smelling like this," Lindsey said, not looking at her. 

"I wouldn't have taken it regardless. I wouldn't want anything to lead back to you," she replied and he just nodded, his eyes haunted yet seeming shocked at her concern. Lindsey went into his room, closing the door behind him. 

Darla headed out into the night, not exactly sure what she was going to do to duplicate Angelus' next gift to her, a decanter filled with blood and a music box from Germany. It had gold filigree and a tiny mechanical hummingbird, with real feathers. It moved its beak and wings to the music. Inside the box had been a lock of Angelus' hair. The mere smell of him had nearly melted her then and there. 

Only men didn't go in for music boxes but she liked to think that she knew what Angelus liked. She found the first used and rare book store on her route and went in. That's what she liked about little old bookstores, they were usually empty. She picked out a book of poetry, Ranier Marie Rilke, ate the proprietor and headed for a liquor store. 

She hadn't expected so many selections. She wondered what Lindsey would like. She planned on giving him the wine and refilling the bottle with blood for Angel. Darla trolled the aisles and hit on some stuff already set out for Christmas. It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet but it worked for her. She saw all sorts of cutesy gift packs. She came across some that held one bottle of wine and the holders were a variety of sports cars up on a incline which held the bottle. Did Angel like cars? She didn't know. Lindsey seemed to like them and most men were more or less interchangeable in the 'what turns them on outside of sex' department. She picked up one with a Shelby Cobra car parked over a bottle of Australian Shiraz. She didn't know if Lindsey liked that but she would find out. 

*** 

Angel returned to the Hyperion after a fruitless search for Darla. He did manage to rid the city of three vampires and two demons he didn't even know the name of but chose the wrong vampire to break bad with, as Gunn would say. Angel firmly reminded himself that he had no interest in anything Gunn or any of his friends had to say. If he thought about them, he might ask them back. Asking them back would mean giving up wallowing in self-pity and he had begun to like his wallow. 

Once again, there was a present waiting for him on his doorstep. He wondered what Darla had sent him this time. He knew he should just destroy it unopened but curiosity made him scoop it up and carry it inside. 'Curiosity killed the cat.' He shook the box and it rattled. It was heavier than he expected. 'Satisfaction brought it back.' Whatever was in the box, if it came from a human source, that person was already dead. He should try to figure out what Darla was up to. It might give him a clue as to where she was and he'd miss out on it if he threw away the box. 

He took it to his room. If it hadn't been for Cordelia, he might have been content to live in the basement safe from the sun but she insisted he live like a person. After all, he had in his old apartment. He had chosen the original room he was living in the first time around and moved in a roomy bed and lots of books. It was his private place. His friends rarely entered here. It was free of their scents, their memories. He was spending more time in this room but he tried to deny that in his head. He started a fire in the old fireplace. He didn't really feel the cold. LA didn't get cold, not like his home had. 

Angel shut his eyes as the fire slowly caught and remembered autumn in Ireland. It had been so beautiful, not like southern California. The air turned crisp. The leaves showed off like an artist's palettes before giving up and falling. He remembered playing in piles of leaves as a child with friends he couldn't even dredge up names for it had been so long. He didn't like autumn any more. It made him homesick. If he hadn't started the fire, he could have pretended it wasn't fall right now since Los Angeles gave few signs other than Christmas decorations going up before Thanksgiving rolled around. 

Stripping off his battle-soiled clothing, Angel stretched out on his bed in his boxers. He opened the box, Darla's scent greeting him, and lifted out the model sports car. He raised his eyebrows. Why in the world had she sent this to him? He'd be the first to admit he loved muscle cars but how did she know? They weren't together for pretty much any of the twentieth century. He found a bag of blood tucked into a round cubbyhole the car sat on top of, a wine holder unless he missed his guess. He preferred the blood. 

Angel opened the stop-cock at the end of the bag. There was no sense in not drinking it. It wasn't like he could return it to the hospital it had been stolen from. They'd consider it contaminated and it wasn't cold any longer. He felt too lazy to go microwave it; instead he just sucked it from the tubing like a kid with a juice in a drink pouch. Angel didn't even really mind the chemical aftertaste - the blood, of course, had thinners in it to keep it from coagulating. "Ummmm," he sighed. 'AB, how did she remember that was his favorite?' 

Vampires could tell the various blood types. Angel had always figured it was just like an oenophile telling one wine from another just by a hint of it passing his tongue. It wasn't until much more recently in his life that he learned that blood carried a variety of different antigens in them. It made transfusion a precise science and it was probably why vampires could tell the difference between donors. 

Angel ran a finger over the lines of the model car. What he wouldn't give for one of these? Oh, his Belvedere was great but it had nothing on a Cobra. Of course, a Cobra would be an agregious waste of money. How civilized had he become? Darla would just go and kill a Cobra owner and take the car. He wouldn't be surprised to find one parked at the curb with a big bow for him. He set the car on the night stand, knowing he should feel much guiltier about taking things from her. He should be trying harder to find and kill her. However, she was his mother, lover and long time companion. She had promised to show him the world and she had. He could have tried harder to kill her and Dru but it was like killing part of himself. He had done it once for Buffy but now it seemed much more painful to try. 

Angel peered into the box, thinking it felt heavier than that model alone. He withdrew a book, closed rather unevenly with a ribbon. A smile, quite unbidden, tugged at his lips. Darla remembered he loved poetry. He tried to keep that hidden, at least once Spike had joined the family. His smile widened wickedly at the memories of he and Darla shredding Spike and his poetry. Dru had thrown such fits over the abuse her childe had taken. Angel knew he should feel guilty about that too but it had been so much damn fun making the younger vampire weep. It hadn't taken him and Darla to kill that creative part of Spike that created bad poetry. Afterwards, Angel felt bad about it because it had brought Dru joy, and despite the fact he'd deny it, Angel had liked Spike's poetry. Still Spike had gone from poet to bad ass quickly. Dru might have sired the little vampire but it had been Angelus who had raised him. There were times he was very proud of his grandson. He was a right wicked beast and if pushed to the wall, Angel had to admit there were times he feared his own creation. He had done too good a job. 

Angel looked at the title. He liked Rilke well enough; he preferred Donne but he didn't expect Darla to remember that. He pulled the ribbon off, taking a long drink from the blood bag. Opening the book, Angel found himself staring at red panties. He knew he shouldn't touch them. He should just take the book to the fireplace and dump the underwear into the flames. Instead he set the blood bag back in the wine holder and picked the panties up. The silk was soft under his calloused fingers. 

Even before he knew what he was doing, he had the panties pressed to his nose. He breathed in deep. Darla had been so aroused while wearing these. He remembered that musky scent. Even now he could taste her salt on his tongue, making his mouth water. He shifted his hips, feeling the pressure building in his nether regions. Eyes closed, he flicked his tongue over the silk, reaching down, feeling his flesh, warm and rampant, shoving through the opening of his boxers. 

Why didn't he just give in to her? It would be so much easier. Become the monster again and all the pain would go away. No more disappointed friends, no more hauntings by a tiny blonde girl, her huge eyes brimming with tears as he leaves her behind, no more trying to good only to have it thrown in his face. Giving in would be so easy but he was never a man to do things the easy way. Oh, how easy it was to lie to himself. Liam had always done things the easy way so why should Angel be any different. Because I chose to change. 

Still, there was something to be said for walking in shadows. A pair of panties wouldn't undo him but there was no reason he couldn't enjoy them. Angel took another deep breath in, the scent of his long time mate imprinting on him. He wrapped the soft silk over his quivering member, slowly pumping himself. He flipped the book open and read the first one he found. As if by fate, the book opened to the poem, Autumn. 'And tonight the heavy earth is falling away from all other stars in the loneliness.' 

Angel wrinkled his nose. He didn't want to think about loneliness. It only served to remind him he was lying on his back doing things he shouldn't, like wanking off with the panties a killer had sent him, knowing this would be their exact effect. If he hoped that thought would kill the fire in him, he was disappointed. Angel flipped through the book to one of his favorite poems, Love Song. 

'How can I keep my soul in me, so that it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise it high enough, past you, to other things? I would like to shelter it, among remote lost objects, in some dark and silent place that doesn't resonate when your depths resound. Yet everything that touches us, me and you, takes us together like a violin's bow, which draws one voice out of two seperate strings. Upon what instrument are we two spanned? And what musician holds us in his hand? Oh sweetest song.' 

He hadn't read these lines to Darla but he had read her Byron and Shelley before fucking like wild animals, usually in the midst of the chaos they had created. He had read Rilke to Buffy. He ran the silk up and down himself faster, Buffy's face joining Darla's in his mind's eye. His love might hate him for that but he couldn't help it. Liam had liked twosomes when he could get it. Angelus had nearly demanded them at all times. He'd never want Buffy and Darla in the same room, let alone in the same bed but as a fantasy he wasn't turning it down. 

Angel slowed again, rolling over long enough to fish one of those naked pictures of Darla out of bed stand. Buffy's picture was on it in a silver frame. He flipped it down so she wasn't looking at him. Staring at Darla in the water fall, her hand cupping her delicate folds, Angel finished himself off, long streamers of cum covering his boxers, belly and hand. 

Disgusted with himself, he wiped up with Darla's panties and got up. He stripped off his boxers and threw both sets of underwear into the flames. As an acrid stench filled the room, he left it, going into the bathroom. The water couldn't get hot enough to scald away his shame. 

* ** 

"I didn't even know you could..." Lindsey gestured to Darla with his chopsticks. "Eat." 

She poked at the sushi with the tip of her chopsticks, wondering why she had said yes to this. She was just giving him false hope. "We can. We don't taste much so we tend to go for the spicy stuff to off set that. It's more a social thing. It makes us look more...human. It's a good thing not to call too much attention to yourself so you don't have to resort to living underground. It was one of the thing I stressed to Angelus." Seeing Lindsey's eyes going storm-blue, she added. "I taught it to all my children." 

"Makes sense," he grunted, poking a piece of Alaskan roll into the blob of wasabi. "This stuff's spicy if that helps." 

Darla smiled and pointed to a huge raw sea scallop covered with a dollop of she didn't know what. "I want to see if you're actually going to eat that." 

"I love those," he assured her and expertly picked it up with his chopsticks. He bit it in half, letting the shellfish slither down his throat. 

"You really like sushi?" Darla pursed her lips. "Somehow, I don't think it's...you." 

Lindsey shrugged. "I like sushi. Why would you think it isn't me?" 

Darla pushed back a lock of golden hair. "I don't know. It fits your lifestyle but somehow I think that's more like one of your Armani suits, something you wear to fit in. What's your favorite food?" Her lips quirked up. "Truthfully." Lindsey grinned, instantly boyish. He leaned closer conspiratorially. "It's a toss up between a nice thick rare steak or a slab of babyback barbequed ribs. Ooo, and fried okra." His grinned broadened and Darla laughed. "I wouldn't say no to a pepperoni, ham, bacon, sausage, beef whatever other meat you can think of, extra cheese pizza and beer." 

Darla laughed louder, nearly dropping her chopsticks. "Now see, that's the real Lindsey, the one you keep hidden." 

He went somber. "Sometimes it's necessary. Wolfram and Hart doesn't want the real Lindsey. They want the law school wiz they hired." 

"How about we get out of here and the real Lindsey takes me someplace the Wolfram and Hart one wouldn't be caught dead in?" 

Lindsey nodded. "Let's not waste this." he swept a hand over the remaining Kentucky roll, baby octopuses and Alaskan roll. "And we'll need to go home and change because we'll stick out like a sore thumb in these clothes." 

A little more than an hour later Darla found herself in the Silver Spurs Saloon, dancing to Toby Keith's A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action. It would help if she had a clue how to dance to country music but Lindsey was a good teacher. She knew the song was talking about what she and Lindsey both wanted only they didn't want it from the same people. 

She could barely recognize Lindsey in his new get up. She hadn't dreamed he had cowboy boots, let alone black ones with blue flames or a blue shirt with big sequined musical notes on it. The black cowboy hat just topped the whole thing off but she would willingly admit he looked great in his painted-on jeans. He had a great ass, better than Angel's. Angel had the better shoulders but Lindsey had it all over him in the ass department. Of course, there was no comparison on the matter of height. Lindsey was a short man, but all the more darling for it. 

And as much as she wouldn't mind getting a good handful of that ass, Darla knew it would only be for the night, or a handful of nights. Lindsey was a toy that she wanted to play with but it was Angel her heart was crying for. She had sired other children, of course, but none as fine as him. Maybe if she hadn't driven him from her side after everything went wrong with those damn gypsies; if only Spike hadn't eaten her leverage to get the leader to lift the curse, if she hadn't put that girl in Angelus' path in the first place, maybe Angelus wouldn't have turned into such a pathetic, whimpering creature. Still, she was immortal again. There was time to woo him back, change him again. 

The music changed, slowing as Bryan White's 'I'm Not Supposed to Love You Anymore' came on. Lindsey pulled her close, no longer shy about holding her with his prosthetic arm. She rested her head against his shoulder and he didn't panic about her lips touching his neck. He smelled good. It felt good just to be held. Now if only she had the right man holding her. Darla moved with Lindsey in the slow dance and when he shifted her to look into her face she went with him. She was the one to kiss him first, feeling lost and needy. She pressed her tongue into him and he sucked her in hungrily. Vampires were supposed to leave a wake of destruction behind them, so why did she feel so bad about what she knew she'd eventually do to this man? Maybe it was that hidden sweetness inside him. She broke the kiss and Lindsey sensed the change in mood. He loosened his hold on her. She smiled and took his living hand, leading him off the dance floor. 

"Shouldn't our order be ready?" she asked. She thought that might be sufficient cover for her changing mood, hoping not to crush him tonight. She still needed him, his strength, his safe harbor at least until her plan worked. 

"Probably." 

They swung by the bar and he picked up two huge baskets, one of hot wings and the other of jalapeno poppers. Darla got the pitcher and glasses and they found their own table out on the bar's large porch. It was a mild evening, too mild to be late autumn, Darla thought. Certainly there was a gorgeous harvest moon hanging in the sky but where was the nip of the wind, the soft hiss of dry leaves blowing in that wind? This was definitely not the autumn of her childhood memories, a time of year she had always treasured. 

Lindsey poured the beers then dived into the poppers. "Have you ever tried these? They might be spicy enough for you." 

Darla obliged him by tasting one. She could almost get a sense of the appetizer. "They're good. When I said show me the real Lindsey, this was definitely not what I was expecting." 

He laughed. "I'm afraid to ask what you thought I'd be like." 

"I don't know exactly but not this. You're not really LA at heart, are you?" 

His blue eyes went wistful. "I can be but I grew up in a place worlds away from here in attitude, in morals, in just about every way. I miss it sometimes and other times I'm so glad to be away from there. I'm never sure if I don't come out to places like this honky tonk often because it makes me home sick or if it just makes me think of home and I get sick." 

"Did you grow up sad, Lindsey?" Darla asked, liking the way he looked in moonlight. The color of his hair, the unruliness of it, reminded her of Angelus. She listened to him telling her about how he grew up, the sheer tragedy of it and she felt pity for him. She knew that kind of pain. She knew what poor was like. She had used her womanhood to escape it. He had used his brains. 

In return, he asked to share her pain, her mortal life. She told him about her fears when she had been married off when she was twelve years old; her pain over three miscarriages; fears for her future when her husband died before she was even fifteen; of burying four children, none of which lived longer than three years; the ugliness of a whore's life and how she compensated with spending all her money pretending to be a lady of refinement before she caught the disease that would have killed her if the Master hadn't beat it to her. She even told him her real name and by the end of it she wasn't even thinking of Angel any more, even knowing that by now he had found her latest present. 

***

Angel had almost gone into Caritas to see if the Host could help him twig onto what Darla was up to. However, he saw Cordelia on stage with Wes and Gunn at a nearby table. And people said he was the bad singer. They should hear Cordelia. 

He went to some of the flashier clubs. Those were places he knew Darla would like but he found no clues. Deep down, Angel knew he could find her if he just did some work around Wolfram and Hart, maybe follow Lindsey. He didn't know which is was that was stopping him; a true desire to go dark or a secret one to not to have to kill Darla. 

It was his fault she was a demon. He failed to save her. He should have been able to make her see what a gift her humanity was but he couldn't do it. Now she was a demon again as a direct result of his shortcomings. Did he have the right to kill her? 

To Angel's surprise, upon returning home, was the Hyperion's front doors were open, the lock stressed beyond its capacity. His face morphed, expecting Darla - or other trouble - inside. He cautiously stepped into the lobby. Nothing leapt out at him but he caught Darla's scent lingering like a sheeting of memory. Angel stood stock-still, listening. If it wasn't' Darla, he might be able to hear breathing, or hear anyone moving. A very muffled sound came from upstairs. 

He restrained himself from charging up the stairs. He took a more careful approach. He opened the door to his room then froze. Tied to his bed, moaning around a gag, lay a naked young woman. Her blonde hair haloed her head where it wasn't matted with blood. Tears streamed from her blue eyes. Her naked body was covered in writing. Seeing him she wriggled as much as she could, bound as she was, trying to scream behind the gag. 

"Just relax. I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "Is there anyone hiding in here?" 

Angel couldn't interpret her sobs so he looked in the closet but no vampires were hiding out. He went over to untie her but couldn't help reading what had been scrawled all over her body. 'Fell on the upturn'd faces of those rose; that gave out, in return for the lovelight; their odorous souls in an ecstatic death' was written on her right thigh. Her belly read, 'By each spot the most unholy; in each nook most melancholy; there the traveller meets aghast, sheeted memories of the past,' and over her chest, 'She tenderly kissed me; she fondly caressed and then I fell gently to sleep on her breast; deeply to sleep from the heaven of her breast. 

It was all poetry by Edgar Allen Poe. To Helen, Dreamland and For Annie, respectively. It hit Angel finally what 'remember Meath' meant. He knew what Darla was up to. Angel tore through the ropes binding the girl. He tried to remove her gag but she batted him, ripping at the offensive thing herself. He took care of the ropes tying down her feet. She tried to say something but it came out as a sob. Angel went to his closet and frantically dug around until he came up with a robe. 

He draped it around her. "Are you badly hurt?" 

She shook her head, dragging the robe around her like armor. "She...she kept saying I was a gift for Angel. I don't know...is that you?" 

"It's me but I'm not going to hurt you. What did this woman look like? Did she have people helping her?" Angel wondered for a moment about whether or not Lindsey would have thrown in on something this heinous. He'd like to think not. Angle wanted to believe he was reaching Lindsey. 

"Aren't you going to call the police?" she asked through chattering teeth. 

Angel got off the bed, pulled out his cell phone and went into the hall because he wasn't exactly calling 911 and didn't want to panic the girl. It took a only a few moments to convince Kate to come. He and she had been doing a weird dance around each other since they first met. She hated what he was but couldn't deny he had tried to help time and again. Even if she still thought he was somewhat evil, telling her there was a kidnaped girl left tied to his bed was enough to motivate her. "A detective is coming," he said. "Can I...I don't know, get you some of my clothes or..." 

She shook her head. "I'm okay. She didn't hurt me much but my head's splitting. I think she hit me once." Her pale brow furrowed, as she tried to gel the details in her mind. "Something hit me and I woke up tied here. She was writing all over me. Why did she do this? What are you going to do to me?" 

Angel could see the fear in her blue eyes. She didn't trust him not to rape and kill her despite the fact he had untied her. "Nothing, I promise you...uh, I don't know your name." 

"Rachel," she mumbled. 

"What did she look like, Rachel?" he asked again even though he knew the answer. "Was she short, blonde, brown-eyed with a funny wispy high-pitched voice?" 

She bobbed her head, her blonde hair flopping like a blood-stained mop. "You know her. Why did she do this? What do you want from me?" 

"Nothing. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I think it was my ex and I'm not sure what she's up to," he lied. He knew exactly what Darla was doing. 

"I'm so terrified." She wrapped the robe even tighter around her. 

Angel sat down, put his arms around her and held her until Kate arrived. He left the room until Kate and the two uniformed female cops she brought with her took photographs of the crime scene and the girl's body with all its handwritten evidence. Then other police with CSU written on their jackets arrived to go over his bedroom more thoroughly, grumbling how his well meaning attempts to comfort Rachel had trampled evidence. 

Angel ignored them. If they were so unlucky as to catch up with Darla, she'd eat them. It wasn't the first time his bedroom had been a crime scene but it was one of the few times he wasn't the one who had made it so. The ambulance arrived and took Rachael to have her battered head examined. When the flurry of police activity ended and it was just him and Kate, Angel took her down to his office. "Can I get you something to drink? I think Cordy has some hot chocolate. I'm no good with the coffee maker. Wes surely has tea somewhere." He was babbling as bas as Wesley, trying to find a way to avoid the inevitable; telling Kate everything. 

"How about beer? Do you have any beer?" Kate sank wearily into a chair. 

"I'll check." 

Angel returned with two beers. "Boddingtons. Must be Wesley's." He pried the cap off with one strong finger and handed it to her. He helped himself to the other one. 

"So what the hell's going on here?" Kate's voice bore no signs of friendship. Angel wasn't perturbed by it. He was used to Kate blowing hot then cold where he was concerned. "The vic said you told her that it was your ex who did this." 

"Darla," he said, simply. 

"So why didn't she kill this woman?" Kate asked pragmatically then swigged down some beer. 

"I was supposed to do it." 

"So you know what's going on," Kate said, giving him an expectant look. 

Angel folded his large hands around the beer bottle, considering what to tell her. He decided on honesty. "In the mid-eighteen hundreds, when I was still Angelus and Darla and I were a couple, I managed to piss her off. I wanted her back so I devised a plan." 

Kate cocked an eyebrow. "To win her undead heart?" 

"Exactly. I think Darla's recreating my grand plan to romance her." 

Kate's eyes hardened. "Go on." 

"I got a note from her telling me to remember Meath and...some blood." He decided to not tell Kate about the heart. "Meath is where we were when I was doing the romance thing. The first night I gave her the heart of a handsome young barkeep and some portraits I drew of myself to entice her." 

"Portraits of yourself?" Kate's lips twitched, amused. "So you have an ego bigger than this hotel." 

"Yes," he grumbled. "She gave me photographs of herself." 

"That's less egotistically than drawing self portraits." 

"We didn't have cameras back then...and these photos were of her naked." 

"Oh, I can imagine why." Kate shuddered. 

Angle ignored that. "The next night I gave her a carafe of blood, covered the walls and ceiling of her room in flowers and gave her an expensive music box." 

"She gave you a music box?" Kate's amused look grew. 

Angel gave her the hairy eyeball. "No. That's why I didn't put it together right away what she was up to. She gave me another IV bag of blood, a sports car knickknack instead of a music box and a book of poetry." He decided leaving out the bit about the panties and definitely telling her about his bout of self-love was out of the question. "The following night I gave her a young man inked with the verses of Edgar Allen Poe so she had a little something to read with her meal." 

"And she returned the favor, right down to Poe's poetry," Kate said. 

Angel nodded. "She should have known I'd let the girl go." 

"So what came next?" Kate asked, dread in her voice. 

"That's what I'm going to need your help with. It was my final gesture of love. Meath is famous for having an abundance of Celtic high crosses. I tied up several young priests to the crosses, some nuns, too. We slaughtered them there and desanctified the nearby church. It left nearly a dozen dead and we had made up as a couple," Angel admitted, quelling at the disgust in Kate's eyes. 

"So you're telling me she's going to do something big in a church," she grated out. 

Angel hung his head. "Probably." 

Kate drummed her fingers on the table. "So the question is which one so we can stop her." 

"I don't know." Angel ran a hand through his thick hair. "I'd start checking with the Irish Catholic churches in town." 

Kate shot him another look of loathing. "Remind me again why I haven't staked you?" 

Angel shrugged. "Some days I have no clue." 

*** 

Lindsey was watching her primping her hair. Darla knew he was probably wondering how she did it so well without a mirror. She wore a blue silk dress with spider-web thin straps. It clung to her curves and flattered her pale skin. Lindsey had to know something big was happening. She could tell by the furrows in his brow that he didn't like it. If he had any clue what she planned on doing, she imagined he'd be even less happy. 

"You're going out again," he said, coming over to her. There was a sadness in his voice she could practicably distill and bottle. 

She thought about lying to him, telling him a lame story about needing to hunt. She considered the full truth; Wolfram and Hart wanted her to seduce Angel but she couldn't bring herself to do it. "Wolfram and Hart have something they need me to do," she said simply. It was true but more importantly, it was innocuous. 

"Why didn't they tell me?" He came over and finished zipping up the back of her dress. She was grateful. Darla never could figure out why women did silly things like put zippers and buttons in places they needed someone to help them with. 

"I don't know." 

"I do." He sighed, his lips brushing her earlobe. He nipped it gently. "They don't trust my objectivity. They think I'm too close to you." He kissed the bare skin of her shoulder. 

"Aren't you?" She reached back and ran her hands down his side and squeezed his firm ass. 

He turned her in his arms and gently kissed her on the lips. She felt the sorrow washing out of him into her. "Yes." 

"Lindsey, I'm..." she trailed off. 

"Sorry for what you're about to do?" he finished for her. "I can see it in your eyes." 

"Vampires are rarely sorry," she said weakly, going very still in his arms. 

"I don't want to know what you're going out to do," he said, letting her go. 

"No, you don't," she replied and he turned away from her. "Lindsey, do you want me to leave? I shouldn't be putting you in the middle of this mess." 

"It's really going to be a mess, isn't it?" he interrupted. 

"Vampires might rarely be sorry but we often make huge messes. We excel at it," Darla took his hand. It was so warm. "And I shouldn't pay back everything you've done for me with horror." She could barely believe the words coming out of her mouth. Was it the soul she had just let go of? Was it being human again even if it had only been briefly? Or was Angel's goodness infecting her. Why should she care what she did to Lindsey? She should be savoring his pain but she wasn't. She hated hurting him even if in the end, if things went well and she got what she wanted; Angel. 

He squeezed her fingers lightly. "I knew what I was getting into. I don't want you to go." 

She kissed his cheek, knowing full well he had no clue what he had gotten into, not really. Love had struck him blind. She almost wished he had found a better vessel to pour his love into. "Thank you." 

She left him standing there, melancholy singing a threnody in his soul so loudly she could hear it. Darla blocked Lindsey from her mind. She had to. Her plan required concentration. Over three hundred years of being hobbled by women's fashions enabled Darla to move gracefully, nigh silently, in her stiletto heels. She didn't even seen them as a hindrance. 

Darla got into the Viper she had stolen from a junior Wolfram and Hart lawyer who had dared to pinch her butt. They wouldn't find his body any time soon. She didn't know if her car could outrun Angel's but it should be fast enough if escape was needed. 

She headed for St. Keara's Catholic Church. By now teens from a local high school should be there, lured in by the promise of drugs, alcohol and music. Contacting the less savory teens had been easy enough. She knew they'd spread the word about a rave. The priest had already been subdued. She wondered if she'd get too many rats on her bait, making control difficult. Lindsey had delayed her. She had wanted to be at the church before they started to arrive. 

Just a dozen would work nicely. She'd lock up the church as soon as she got her quota provided she wasn't immediately overwhelmed. Ah well, first come, first torture and eaten. Darla smiled softly as she started the engine. This was going to be fun. 

*** 

"I just want you to be totally clear on this."Angel pushed off his GTX where he had been leaning until Kate pulled up to the church in her car. "You don't go after Darla. You only rescue any survivors." 

Kate scowled, not liking to take orders from him. "I've helped kill vampires before." 

"Not like Darla. She's older than most of the ones you've gone up against," Angel said, though it wasn't exactly true. The demon in Darla was new but it had all the previous demon's memories. "She taught me all I know...well, what I didn't expound on at any rate." 

Kate's lips curled as she brushed a blonde lock off her face. "In other words, she's a real sick bitch." "Exactly." Angel shrugged. "And Darla's been known to use guns." 

Kate frowned. "That's just cheating." She went to the trunk of her car and pulled out her bullet proof vest. She squirmed into it. "Instead of exploding bullet tips with fulminated mercury, we need to figure out how to do it with holy water." 

"That wouldn't be a bad idea," Angel admitted, trying to imagine how much that would hurt. 

Kate took a long look at the church. "How can you be sure she's here?" 

"I'm not but it's the best place to start. This is an old Irish church in a section of the city that has seen far better days. Half the buildings around here are abandoned and the people who do live here would barely care if a bomb went off. This isn't exactly what I used in Meath but times are different," Angel said. 

Kate double-checked her weaponry. "I've got a bad feeling." 

"You should." Angel took point. He thought he smelled blood as he neared the old wooden doors engraved with the what might have been the four horsemen of the apocalypse or the four archangels, he couldn't tell. He could hear music softly playing behind the odd doors which were locked. Kate gave him a questioning look. He wasn't sure if she doubted his guesswork or if she heard the music too and knew if the door was barred it was going to be bad. He broke the lock and the blood scent boiled out of the church, accompanied by pathetic little whimpers. 

Angel was grateful for the sounds. They grounded him, took the edge off the involuntary, gnawing hunger the blood smell touched off. Behind him, he heard Kate gag. He couldn't blame her. Darla had crucified the priest over top the writhing Jesus on the cross behind altar. She had somewhere stolen razor wire to fashion him a crown of thorns after dressing him in his vestments. A golden cross embroidered on the white vestment gleamed through the gore running down his body. The baptismal font under the foot of the cross caught his blood. 

Angel remembered doing that in Meath. Darla had been so impressed he had braved giant crosses and kicked over an entire font of holy water just for her. The rest of the church resembled his memories but now with Darla's special touches, like the naked, still living girl tied to the altar, face down leaving all three orifices for him to chose from. She had pulled the lungs out of through the back of one young man, like wings, and hung from the choir loft like an angel. 

Angel didn't even want to know why Darla had stripped two girls and two boys, lashing the boys to the side altars and the girls to the altar boys' kneelers. Long lit offering tapers had been inserted into all four of them in varying orifices. Angel couldn't tell over the music and the sobbing from the other kids trussed in bundles, no doubt for feeding on later, if the four human candle holders were still breathing. 

"Mary Mother of God," Kate whispered behind him. 

She had never struck Angel was the religious sort but this kind of thing would shove most anyone back into the wells of desperate belief in something bigger but long forgotten. He put his body between Kate and the forefront of the church, hoping Darla wasn't hidden in the cry room behind them. "Darla!" he bellowed. 

She came out of the sacristy with that little half smile that used to drive him wild on her painted lips. Her dress was spotless. Had she worn an apron to do this? Done it nude? Why was he even torturing himself thinking about it? 

Darla tossed her golden hair in a way that used to turn him on. He forcibly reminded himself this was the creature that killed him; that gave him the Gypsy girl whose death resulted in his curse; who forcibly beat him out of their home when he turned to her for comfort when he had gained his soul. 

A voice kept whispering in his head, 'mother, lover, companion for over a century' but he drowned it out with the moans of the tortured teens; their pleading for rescue so sharp in their eyes it left him bleeding. 

Darla caught sight of Kate and her face morphed. "You weren't supposed to bring a date." 

"What have you done, Darla?" Angel asked. 

Darla's face smoothed back over. "You don't recognize it?" She seemed disappointed. 

"Yes, I remember Meath." His voice went glacial. "Did you honestly think this would have some kind of effect of me?" 

Darla cocked a hip at him. "I know it has. If you weren't touched, you'd trust yourself to come alone and not bring a pathetic mortal body guard." 

"I knew there'd be people she could help," Angel replied, seeing Kate wasn't waiting on him to rescue the kids. She was cutting free the nearest bundle of bodies. 

"Uh-uh-uh," Darla asked, sauntering toward Kate. "We can't have that." 

Kate stood back up, knife in hand, drew her pistol with the other, shot Darla and went back to working on the knots without missing a beat. Darla dropped the moment the bullet tore into her, high and to the right; not deadly but painful enough. She was back up almost instantly. She ran for Kate. Angel caught her and tossed her so hard she flew over the wrought iron table that held the offering candles and crashed into a pedestal holding the Blessed Virgin standing atop the world, her bare foot crushing a snake. 

Mary toppled on top of Darla, leaving her even more bloodied. Angel heard Kate telling the kids to run for it but he ignored them, advancing on his former lover. He tripped over a plastic rain coat half tucked under a pew. The coat was soaked in blood. That's how she didn't get all messed up, he thought kicking it off the end of his shoe. Darla scooped up the statue of the holy mother and threw it at him. Angel dodged easily but it was enough time for Darla to go out a side door. 

"Handle it, Kate. I'm going to end this," Angel said, racing after the vampiress. 

Darla out-sprinted him to her car, high heels and all, roaring off down the road. Angel followed in the GTX. She hit the freeway where he had no hope of stopping her. The huge engine in the Belvedere easily allowed him to keep up with her, pass her even, but there were too many cars on the highway to do anything more than chase her. Any heroics might result in innocents being killed. 

Darla left the city limits but Angel was in no mood to let her go. She was heading for Sunnydale and he wondered if she even knew it. Maybe she did or maybe she didn't. Either way, she got off an exit that lead to a relatively smaller town. He didn't know why she left the highway other than perhaps she realized she couldn't outrun him so she'd try to lose him. Instead, she seemed to decide that was a mistake and headed back for L.A where she'd have a better chance at that. 

He didn't know what little city within Los Angeles they were in when she left the highway again. This section of road was more deserted, a stretch of cemetery along the driver's side of the road. Angel tried to cut her off. He was more experienced at handling fast cars, evidenced by the fact Darla lost control and crashed into a tree. As he slammed on the brakes, he saw her getting out of the car. Any other time Darla and a Viper might make for a great wet dream but now he was beyond furious. She had hurt all those kids just to impress him and it had to stop. 

She fled into the cemetery and he ran after her. Angel easily gained on Darla. Her heels kept sinking in the soft earth. She stumbled and went sprawling on top of the grave-length headstone that overlaid the plot, embedded unevenly in the ground; a favorite presentation in the 1800's, barring the unevenness from upheavals. Angel was on top of her before he even knew what he was doing. He should have kept clear of her, kicked her, staked her, anything but put his body on top of her's. 

Somewhere in the midst of the fists he rained down on her, her cries reached a primal part of him. The way she squirmed under him, trying to get away, ignited the parts of him he tried to keep locked away in Angelus' eternal cage. He loved her pain, the smell of her blood, the mere scent of her. Angel was only dimly aware he was growling under the light of the hunter's moon. His fangs pricked his lips. He wanted to taste her. 

"You killed them!" he snarled. "For me." 

"Not all of them," she said, clawing at him. 

He lifted her by the arms, slamming her back against the headstone, cracking it. Darla yipped. "None of them deserved what they got." 

"Angelus would have loved it," she hissed, spitting blood past her cracked swollen lips at him . "He's gone!" Angel hauled her up by her dress and the delicate silk tore; another mistake. As if the scent of blood and her moving under him hadn't already given him a raging erection - thoughts of rough sex play he and Darla had so enjoyed racing through his mind - the sight of her moonstone pale breasts with their soft pink nipples made rational thought nearly impossible. 

Darla tried to unseat him and failed. Angel struggled not to show the blow she landed had probably broken a rib. "Dru was right. You have been pussy-whipped by that Slayer." 

For a ludicrous moment Angel tried to imagine those words coming out of Dru's pouty little mouth. "Dru did?" 

Darla shrugged under him, almost relaxing, sensing she had made a chink in his armor. "Well, I'm paraphrasing but she definitely was trying to get across that the Slayer tamed you." Darla's ridged brow wrinkled even further. "Or maybe she was mumbling about the sun eating the moon, who can tell? It's Dru. Only Spike could ever figure her out. But it's true. As if the soul wasn't bad enough, that Slayer turned you into a real do-gooder. It's sickening but I can help you. I can return you to your former glory." She ran a hand over his cheek. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, my darling boy?" 

Angel wanted to crush her skull for saying that, for daring to touch him like that but more importantly, he wanted that touch. The darkness in him welled up like a blood-rimmed tide. The desire to accept her offer overwhelmed him. Who cared about him? The Powers that Be jerked him around. Yes, he helped others but who was helping him? Why couldn't someone have used their magic to fix his curse so he could be with Buffy? No one had even suggested it. It was like everyone in Sunnydale wanted him to suffer, including Buffy. She could play the tragic fairy princess this way. The last few times he had seen her she couldn't wait to rub her great new life in his face. 

Gunn had never liked him. He couldn't begin to figure out Kate but knew she seemed to think he was merely stringing her along to do a terrible evil to her at a later date and hating herself for having some kind of feelings for him. He knew she did but at this point they were irrelevant. 

Wesley shut him out and Cordelia had cut him to the core when she blamed him for Wesley getting shot. They wouldn't even let him see his one-time friend. They wanted him to disappear into the darkness, to stand silent as a shadow in their hearts. He had been set adrift down the River Acheron, riding it to the confluence of the River Styx. Angel was drowning in the water of hate and Darla was the only one there to pull him back to the shore. 

He nuzzled her bare breast, licking the cool, soft flesh of her nipple. It hardened under his mouth, his fangs bringing up pearls of blood for him to savor. Darla's fingers tangled in his thick hair, dragging him up her body so their lips could meet. The taste of her blood made him harder. Darla rolled him and he let her, feeling the rough limestone of the grave marker under him. 

She smiled down at him, the demon part of her hidden now. She turned on his belly, what was left of her dress puddling around her narrow hips. Darla unzippered him. Angel groaned as her talented mouth engulfed him. She sucked greedily at the head of his penis, then slid him deeper into her throat. Darla had had centuries to perfect her technique. Angel's head dropped back against the headstone as she squirmed on his torso, spreading her legs for him. She wasn't wearing any underwear, just a garter and hose, and he wanted to taste her. 

Darla let him slip free. She looked back at him, smiling. "It's nice to have you back. I love you, you know." 

Angel tensed. Those words were like drinking holy water. When he thought of love, he didn't see Darla's face. He saw one equally petite and hair almost as golden but her eyes were wide and innocent. She was willing to give her life so that he could survive a toxin that should have killed him. The woman crouched over him now, working him masterfully, would have left him to die. She had left him in Holtz's hands at least once. Where was the love in that? What in the hell was he doing? 

"No!" Angel grabbed Darla by the waist and threw her off. 

She rolled in the grass, cracking into an upright headstone. She shook her head then focused on him. "What do you mean, no?" 

Angel stuffed himself back into his pants, nearly zippering himself up in his haste. "This isn't happening. It can't go on like this. You have to pay for what you did tonight." 

Darla's face went demonic. "I can't believe you." 

"Believe it. You and me, it's not happening. Not now, not ever." Angel got up, stalking over to her. 

Darla slipped off her high heels, jumping to her stockinged feet. She met his charge, wielding her high heel like a scythe. The stiletto tore Angel's throat wide open. He fell back, hand to his ruptured neck, blood pouring through his fingers. She knocked him down and kissed him. "Bye, lover. And it will happen. I promise you that." 

Angel saw Darla try to take his car but he had the keys and she knew nothing of hot-wiring. She bodily dragged the Viper off the tree and got in, naked expect for her garters. The Viper limped back off the highway. He didn't doubt Darla'd find someone to snack on and steal their car. It took some time for his neck to clot off enough for him to get up and get to his car. He called Kate to make sure she was okay and that the kids were safe. He drove as fast as he could, weakened from his injuries, racing daylight and his voracious need to feed so he could heal. 

*** 

She had failed. It didn't seem possible. Her plan should have worked. It had been working. She had him ready and willing, relishing the familiar meaty taste of him then something went wrong. Darla didn't know how or what but her plan had failed miserably. She had killed someone along the way home for her car and her clothing, ill-fitting as it was. Darla dumped the car several blocks away to keep from leaving a trail to Lindsey's door. She quickly went in, changed clothing and took the incriminating stolen garments and threw them in a dumpster a dozen blocks in the opposite direction of the car. The sun was peeking over the horizon when she got back to Lindsey's place. 

Furious with Angel, more furious with herself, Darla headed into the bedroom. Lindsey was still asleep in his darkened room. He had pinned the curtains shut and draped a blanket over the window just to protect her, even though it had to be like sleeping in a tomb to him. Her sensitive eyes didn't need any more light to see the wonderful contrast of his pale skin and the royal blue of his expensive sheets. Lindsey was a delicious looking morsel. 

There would be other chances to get Angel. Darla wasn't one to give up easily, but in the mean time, she needed an outlet for all the feelings roiling inside her. She got on the bed, straddling Lindsey. He woke up with a start as she sat on his belly. His blue eyes widened. 

"Darla, what are..." 

She silenced him with a kiss. Darla pinned his arms, wriggling on top him. It didn't take much convincing before Lindsey gave himself to her. 

*** 

From the darkness, Angel watched the restaurant's secluded courtyard dining patio. He stood still, shadowless like silence watching Lindsey eating while Darla politely nibbled at an appetizer. The lawyer looked like he had been rode hard and put away wet and was enjoying every moment of it. 

Rubbing his still-sore neck, Angel knew he could be across the courtyard and dust Darla before she even knew he was there. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. He still heard her siren's call. Part of him wanted her to escape, to go very far away from him so he wouldn't be forced to kill her, or worse, give in to her. Maybe he did love Darla just a little, after all. He had to fight to remind himself she was evil and that he had turned from that path but it was so easy to give in. Just look at Lindsey, every time Angel thought the young man had turned around he did another about face. 

Angel knew what that felt like. He knew how slippery the slope was and he knew he was teetering. He turned his back on the couple, walking away from his duty. For now, Darla would live and he'd have to shoulder the consequences. Angel steeled himself to go find Kate, confess how Darla had escaped and lie to his...what was Kate? A friend? A compatriot? An enemy he had an uneasy truce with? Damned, if he knew but he knew he had to lie to her about not having a chance to make sure Darla never hurt anyone else. Angel hated himself at the moment but he didn't care. It suited his growing darkness. 

Angel got behind the wheel of his convertible. He stepped on the gas before he went back, tossed Lindsey away from his woman and reclaimed Darla for himself. Angel shivered as he drove and it wasn't from the cool fall breeze. At a red light, he looked up at the fat, autumnal moon. Was this the last time he'd look at it, still convinced he could make amends or the next time would he gaze at it through the eyes of a monster again? What frightened him the most was the fact he couldn't care either way. 

**Author's Note:**

> In order to fit this into autumn we're going to pretend the American air dates for the about episodes is not the actual season for the episodes themselves.


End file.
